


the peace you seek

by Koraki



Category: Fullmetal Alchemist: Brotherhood & Manga
Genre: M/M, Triple Drabble, touch starvation
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-08
Updated: 2017-10-08
Packaged: 2019-01-10 18:57:08
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 300
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12305568
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Koraki/pseuds/Koraki
Summary: When he was young, his mother would put him to bed in the summer with sunlight still glowing in the air.





	the peace you seek

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the prompt "100 words of touch starvation" (but I got carried away and did 300 instead shhh).

When he was young, his mother would put him to bed in the summer with sunlight still glowing in the air, touching her hair into a bright halo of fire around her face. She bent over him and stroked his forehead with a cool hand and sang to him - an old lullaby, one she said her grandfather taught her. Her fingers were soft on his skin, ruffling his hair like the fingers of the wind, and the song soothing, like rain after a hot day.  
  
For years nobody has touched him with such gentleness, prolonged and thoughtful, and he himself has done nothing to deserve anything of the kind. He reaches out his hand only to kill, the momentary warmth of skin and damp heat of breath vanishing things under his palm. Gentleness, like so much else, has deserted him.  
  
He finds peace and a quiet emptiness, and now he does not touch even to kill. Summer is heavy in the air, and the air lies still around him; the people hurry by, eyeing him with an awe that is nearly suspicion. Perhaps only suspicion.  
  
That winter he takes Marcoh to bed. Rain drums on the roof and they kiss clumsily in the dark, his hand on Marcoh's cheek, wondering, his fingertips searching out living warmth beneath scar tissue.   
  
"Here – " Marcoh says, and kisses him slowly, hands gentle in his hair. He feels himself tremble, something sharp and stinging in his chest, and Marcoh does it again, even slower, and draws him down onto the bed. The empty untouched place yawns open in him, depthless and aching with terrible hunger, and slowly, slowly, Marcoh comes to fill it, lips finding the callused hollow of his palm, his wrist, the curve of his forearm, tracing the marks there with infinite care.


End file.
